Those Who Falter and Those Who Fall
by Katherine Jasper
Summary: Would you be surprised if I told you that Inspector Javert wasn't born a cold man or a cynic, that he was born on the infected concrete of a prison floor? A collection of moments and memories, detailing the rise and fall of our favorite Inspector. Dark Fic.


My first Les Miserables fanfic, I hope I do not disappoint you. I am a big fan of the musical and movie, and right now reading the novel. :)

This is a little story (four to six chapters at most) on the rise and fall of our dear Inspector. I've tried to stick to the original story as much as possible, though most of the background and end come from the imagination of yours truly. I hope you enjoy it. :) And, since today is the year anniversary of my CATCF fic, Broken Shards of Chocolate Glass, you should check that out if you want more of me in the literary sense. ;)

**Rating:** T for the first two chapters (just to displayed and recognized) I will change it to M in chapter three, for Violence/Gore, Language, and overall Dark Themes.

**Songs That Inspired The Story:** Bring Him Home and Epilogue from Les Miserables, and Skinny Love by Birdy.

On with the show!

* * *

**~20, December, 1832~**

These prison walls have eyes.

_Number 53702, it is time to meet your fate._

They are always silent, always watching.

_You will executed by firing squad. Sound familiar, 53702?_

Funny thing about these walls, though, they never look away.

_"My name is Javert."_

Or scream.

_"May God have mercy on your soul, Javert."_

No matter how hideous it gets.

**_The execution chamber still has brains on the titles..._**

There are many things in this world that are worse than death.

**_Emilee, I can see her. Emilee, come to me._**

Today we will be experiencing such things.

**_Emilee. Take me now, Lord. Take me now, God!_**

Come with me, and I'll tell you a story.

**_Emilee, ma chérie..._**

I'll show you something

* * *

xxx

**~April, 1st, 1790~**

Would you be surprised if I told you that Inspector Javert was not born a cold man or a cynic, that he was born on the infected concrete of a prison floor? His mother was a gypsy fortune-seller who had been raped by one of the guards.

Her name was Nadya, and her crime was killing the father who sold her.

_It was a murder, but not a crime._

She pushed out baby Javert with her eyes wide and glassy, shrieking at the men who sat the shadows. They waited like wolves, howling and moaning at the smell and sight of her. The sweat on her naked body. The child was crowning; a dark head of hair among her womanhood. The fourteen-year-old sobbed and forced one more contraction.

"Out with it, girl. Out with it."

"Do not force her, Monsieur. Her and the baby will die."

"Good. There is enough scum in this cell. Now out with _it!_"

A final scream and tear. Then, at last, a cry.

The miserable babe landed slick on the concrete.

"It's a boy." said the nursemaid, living Javert up to the warden. "Look at his hair, it's already curled."

A gruffed retort, "Leave it to die.".

"No, Monsieur. I will take him home."

"I...want it." whimpered Nadya, "I...I want it.", her face flushed and dying. Her blood was starting to arose the prisoners further; they would not wait for long. She lifted her arms to her son, her newborn gift. "P-Please, Madam, he belongs here."

"Leave._ It_." The warden's voice peaked as the men became more unyielding. "Let that miserable thing die!" The child gave a cry of protest, his tiny, fluid covered fist raised against the nursemaid's shoulder.

"I _will_ have him, Monsieur, this infant is a child of God." She kissed the top of his head and tugged on the knot of her apron. Then, wrapping it around the struggling babe, she added. "My husband and I are not able to conceive."

Nadya laid still, open-legged and forgotten on the prison floor. "B-But...I _want_ i-"

_"Shut up, you vermin bitch!"_ The Warden lost grip on his already short patience, and sneering, he turned to the nursemaid with a balmy fury in his pale eyes. "Fine, take it. Raise the rat as your own. I do not care!"

And that's exactly what the nursemaid did, she walked to the iron door with a smile on her plain, young face, daring the prisoners to lunge at her. The Warden unlocked the gate with a curt nod towards them. "Do as you please."

As soon as the iron slammed into place, they could hear Nadya's pleas. "No. No! P-Please, I just had a child!"

But nothing cared.

"Lovely lady, let us have a bite." They pushed down their trousers, and grinning, dragged her limp, naked body to a dark corner of the cell.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they killed her." said The Warden, scowling. And, as if on cue, the child mother's screams began. They raped her, all of them, from every angle. She made sounds like some terrible, wounded animal. Such horror right in the infant's face.

Then -without warning- a snap, a scream, and broken back. The young nursemaid let out a gasp and ran, clutching the baby against her chest. She ran past cheering cell-blocks, past wandering eyes and brutal shouts. She didn't stop until she reached the front gate.

Then, with Javert locked firmly in her arms, she collapsed onto the pavement, trembling. The plain girl stared into his tiny face, still chalky with birth matter. With his eyes shut tight and his dark hair so damp and matted down, he looked exactly as the warden described him, a miserable rat. But she held him close all the same, weeping and shaking and weeping some more. She wept for the dead Gypsy girl, she wept for her barren womb, and- most of all- she wept for her newborn son.

"Y-You are a g-gift...from G-God." hiccuped the girl, whose true name was Colette Thenardier, between ragged gasps. "Y-You are not rat, you a-are not dirt. B-Being born i-into miser-ry means n-_nothing. _I promise that I will shelter you in love, I-I promise to make an honest man out of you..."

Another gasp, a shiver, and finally a whisper. "_Javert_. I will be your Mama until the day I die, Javert."

And with a tender kiss on Javert's forehead, she rose from the ground, the bottom of her white skirts caked with grime. Madame Thenardier wiped her nose on the edge of her sleeve and walked home to the dismal apartment in Saint Michel, all while carrying the naked, bloodied infant.

She was quite a sight to all who passed her.

_Je sens sur tes lèvres_  
_Une odeur de fièvre_  
_De gosse mal nourri_  
_Et sous ta caresse_  
_Je sens une ivresse_  
_Qui m'anéantit_

_Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux_  
_Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux_

_Mais voilà qu'il flotte_  
_La lune se trotte_  
_La princesse aussi_  
_Sous le ciel sans lune_  
_Je pleure à la brune_  
_Mon rêve évanoui_

Quite a sight, indeed.

* * *

_Okay,_ first chapter. I'm sorry that it's not my best, I got a little lazy at the end. The lullaby Colette is singing is from a musical called Moulin Rouge and it translates to this.

_I feel your lips_  
_A smell of fever_  
_Malnourished kid_  
_And under your caress_  
_I feel an intoxication_  
_Which destroys me_

_The stairs of the mound are hard to needy_  
_Wings protect mills lovers_

_But now it floats_  
_The moon walkers_  
_The princess also_  
_Under the moonless sky_  
_I cry at dusk_  
_My dream faded_

And...isn't it interesting, her being a Thenardier? Maybe even the mother of Monsieur Thenardier himself? Hmmm. Well, all in good time, my minions. We're going to meet Emilee in the next chapter, yay! I would like some feedback/constructive criticism/suggestions before I start writing though.

Reviews for a struggling writer?

Please.

I'm desperate. :3


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